Alias A Christmas Carol
by aliasfluffyone
Summary: A story within a story. On a cold bleak December night at Devil's Hole, Heyes receives a ghostly visitor while trying his best to cling to the only treasure he wants, his partner's life. Dec 1879, late outlaw days. And Christmas Eve 1903, Smith and Jones days. Warning: canon character death scenes chapter 4
1. A Christmas Tradition

Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. Nor does Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol. This is fan fiction, not for profit.

Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.

A/N – story presumes the details on the wanted posters are not entirely accurate. Story exists in the same No Amnesty - Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories.

Alias A Christmas Carol

 **Chapter 1: A Christmas Tradition**

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Christmas Eve 1903

"It's getting late. Do you want me to start the story?" asked Heyes.

There was no answer, nobody was listening. The dark haired former outlaw looked around the long spacious room of their new home. This past summer, he and Clem finally built their own place up on the ridge near Kid and Matt. He'd told everyone that the library was growing and needed the upstairs rooms that had been their home for so long, but really the whole town of Thunder Ridge was growing. Heyes found he wanted the peace and quiet of their own place. Of course there wasn't any quiet tonight. Over two dozen people were crowded in the rectangular room. The buzz of family and friends talking after Christmas Eve dinner hadn't slowed yet.

"Pa," hissed Arthur, his dark eyes pleading, "I need to get my army men."

Heyes leaned back in his armchair, resting the sleeves of his white button down shirt against the armrests. He looked down at his nine year old son. The lithe boy sat on a pallet in front of the fireplace. Arthur's best friend, Kid and Matt's third daughter Jennifer, sat on the other side. Her blonde head was bent over inspecting twelve year old Sinclair Trevors' army. Tiny metal soldiers, horses and cannons sprawled across the space between the children. Behind them, seventeen year old Cesar MacCreedy leaned against the wall. The teen favored the Armendariz side of the family. Cesar was tall and lanky like Carlotta MacCreedy's brother, but he had his father's twinkling eyes. Right now, Cesar kept taking surreptitious glances at Kid's oldest daughter, fourteen year old Eliza. The tall teen stood beside her mother serving punch at the long trestle table on the far end of the room. Eliza's dark red dress brought out the gold in her blonde hair. Kid and Matt's second daughter, quiet little Hannah leaned against the wall at the far side of the room watching everyone.

"Then why don't you go get them?" asked Heyes in a matter of fact tone.

Arthur Finnian Smith rolled his brown eyes. His long slender fingers gestured towards the couple sitting on the sofa closest to his bedroom door. Harry Wagener held one of Janet's hands in his lap. The newlyweds had arrived from Mexico yesterday and were staying with the Smith family for the holidays.

"You gave them my room," huffed Arthur.

"When family visits, we give up our rooms for them," soothed Heyes. "It's just for a few days."

"Then why ain't they stayin' with cousin Thaddeus?" grumbled the boy. "Ain't they supposed to be his family?"

Heyes's eyebrows went up. The older children all knew that Joshua Smith and Thaddeus Jones were the assumed names of two pretty good bad men that had decided to change their outlawing ways. Last year's legal documents had made the name changes official along the current governor's signature on a twenty year old amnesty agreement. Arthur knew the family relationships. Kid's older brother, Henry Curry, pretended to be a family friend, while their Aunt Katie and her family all claimed to be related to Joshua Smith through her husband's family. Patrick MacCreedy continued to claim Thaddeus Jones as his nephew, while Jenny Black claimed Thaddeus as her oldest son from a first marriage. Heyes had brought Harry Wagener to Thunder Ridge to finish out the final months of his prison sentence. It had been Heyes' idea to claim Harry was another of his partner's uncles.

"Language Arthur," corrected Clem automatically from the chair beside him without turning away from Carlotta MacCreedy. "What have I told you about using the word _ain't_?"

The dark haired boy's head dropped, lips curled downward in a sulky frown. Heyes leaned forward with a low whisper.

"Uncle Harry is also related to us on your mother's side," prevaricated Heyes with a smirk. "Besides, Thaddeus and Matt already have a houseful, and I wanna keep an eye on Harry."

Clem's sharp ears still caught his words. The petite woman leaned back in her chair as Carlotta MacCreedy quit talking about her son's plans for college. Her red and green checked skirt rustled as she swiveled around to face Heyes. Her mischievous hazel eyes smirked.

"Harry's your relative, not mine," chuckled Clem in a low voice. With a whisper, she added, "My side of the family is the law abiding sort, accountants and attorneys..."

"Don't forget the occasional blackmailer," retorted Heyes with a sly grin.

"What?" asked Arthur. "Is that another story I haven't heard?"

Clem's face turned bright pink.

"Later," responded Clem.

The boy crossed his arms over his white Henley, toy soldiers forgotten.

"Later?" protested Arthur. "That means never!"

"Joshua," suggested Clem, placing a small hand on the knee of his black trousers, her lips in a tight smile as she changed the subject. "Maybe you should go ahead and start Mr. Dickens' story."

Heyes glanced at his partner sprawled in an overstuffed chair opposite Harry. Long denim clad legs stretched across the floor, a tripping hazard for the unwary. Five year old Carolyn dozed on Kid's right arm, while her twin sister Charlotte blinked sleepily on his left arm. Kid looked sleepy too. In the chair beside him, Riordan Hale, held Kid and Matt's youngest daughter, one year old Amanda. The young attorney and his wife were expecting a child of their own in the spring. The young Mrs. Hale leaned against her husband watching the chubby baby in fascination, a hand resting on her ample abdomen. Beyond Kid, George and Lom sipped cups of punch. Uncle Mac laughed at something Wheat said, while Wheat's wife elbowed her husband in the ribs. Kyle pushed his glasses up on his nose. Henry shook his head, his arm over his wife Eileen's shoulder. Jenny and Aunt Katie rocked back and forth chattering animatedly.

"All right then," replied Heyes. He cleared his throat. "Quiet now everybody. Quiet down, my partner's trying to rest..."

Instead of the quiet he so desired, nearly everyone took the opportunity to shush their neighbor. All except Kyle. His jaw dropped open and his eyes widened. It was a moment before the dynamite man placed his charge.

"You ain't gonna cancel Christmas again, are you?" blurted out Kyle.

There was a brief instance of silence in the big room, then it exploded in a cacophony of noise as everyone started asking questions.

"What?" demanded Arthur. His brown eyes looked up. "Pa, you didn't! Did you cancel Christmas?"

Heyes held both hands up in a gesture of mock surrender.

"I had a good reason," placated Heyes. "My partner..."

"Don't blame me, I was sleeping," interrupted Kid. "Cancellin' Christmas was all your idea!"

"Pa, I wanna hear this story!"

"Me too!" chimed in a multitude of voices.

"Later," declared Heyes. "Now if everyone will just quiet down some, I'll begin reading."

Heyes opened the book and cleared his throat to begin, but his mind wasn't on the familiar words. He couldn't blame Kyle for his question, Heyes had used almost the same words all those years ago. And it had been Christmas Eve then too.

"Marley was dead, to begin with..." Heyes couldn't help but remember.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Devil's Hole - December 1879

"Han," called Grampa Curry.

"Unh."

Heyes blinked and shut his eyes again. Grampa Curry was dead. Heyes knew it. He and Kid both knew it. They were alive because Grampa Curry had kept the raiders from entering the root cellar all those years ago, but Heyes had been dreaming of the old man for the last three nights. Grampa's voice called again.

"Han."

The tremulous call was followed by a fit of coughing. Heyes lifted his head off the small square table in the front room of the leader's cabin. He brushed crumbs off his white Henley. Firelight glowed in the darkened room. Kid's bed by the front door was empty. Heyes turned to look through the door at the back of the room into the rear bedroom. He could see his partner. Kid was coughing again, harsh sounding, body shaking coughs. Heyes realized the voice he had heard was his partner's.

"Not Grampa," murmured Heyes. "Kid, you sound just like Grampa, but he is as dead as a door-nail."

The dark haired outlaw rose to fetch the youngest member of the Devil's Hole gang a cup of water. Kid had been shot during the Hanford job in late October. Treatment in Tullerette City and then in Cheyenne had been ineffectual. By the time Heyes got his partner back to Devil's Hole Kid was weak from blood loss and running a temperature from an infection. The closest thing to a doctor in Devil's Hole was Lobo. The shaggy haired outlaw saved Kid's leg by scouring the wound with carbolic, but the recovery was long and slow. Heyes had given up his room so Kid could have the warmer, quieter back room. All Heyes remembered of November and the first part of December was a constant changing of poultices, bandages, bedpans, and worry. By mid-December Kid finally seemed to show improvement. The tall blond insisted he was well enough to forego bedpans and chamber pots and make his way to the outhouse on his own. And Kid insisted on taking back his own bed by the drafty cabin entrance. Three days ago Kid had taken ill again. And he was getting worse.

"Han."

Kid's eyes blinked as Heyes entered the bedroom. The older Kansan knelt beside his partner and tucked one arm beneath the curly blond head. Raising Kid's heads upwards, Heyes held the blue tin cup to his partner's lips.

"Here Kid, drink this," urged Heyes.

An indecipherable moan of protest came from his partner.

"Quit complainin', you haven't even tasted it yet," argued Heyes. "It's just water. We're outta willow bark tea, so it won't taste bitter."

The water was soon gone and Kid lay back on his pillow. His red longjohns in stark contrast with the white pillowcase. Heyes' sharp ears heard the ragged breathing slow, settle to a quieter uneasy rhythm as Kid slipped back to sleep. Heyes pulled a gray wool blanket up around Kid's thin form, tucking the edges in carefully to keep the warmth around his partner.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Heyes," called Wheat.

"Huh?"

Heyes lifted his head off the small square table again to see the front door open. Daylight streamed past Wheat, Kyle, Lobo, and Preacher standing in the open doorway. All four men were bundled in their heavy winter coats, scarves around their necks, hats pulled low. A piercing cold gust blew into the room fluttering the worn blue blanket on the bed by the door. Heyes shivered.

"Kid don't like it cold," snapped Heyes. "Either come in or stay out, but whatever you do, shut the door."

The smile disappeared from Wheat's face. The burly outlaw beckoned the others. Feet shuffled as the gang entered the cabin. Preacher stooped to put another log on the fire. Lobo craned his neck to see into the rear bedroom. Heyes nodded. The frazzle haired outlaw quietly made his way to the bedroom door to check on his patient.

"Happy Christmas," greeted Wheat.

Heyes glanced at the calendar on the wall by his desk. Instead of its normal meticulous tidiness, the long narrow table he used as a desk was cluttered with railroad timetables, old newspapers, a ruler and his pocket watch. Tending his partner had taken most of Heyes' energy for the past several weeks. Heyes kept his worry about Kid secret and self-contained, while pretending to work on a plan for their next heist. Instead he merely shuffled papers back and forth. The only thing the mastermind hadn't let slip was his daily marking of the calendar. While Heyes couldn't control Kid's temperature, he could mark off each day. Red lines were drawn across every day in December through Tuesday the twenty-third.

"It ain't Christmas yet," objected Heyes. "Today is only the twenty-fourth."

"It's Christmas Eve, near enough," responded Wheat. "Folks like to celebrate, it's a festive time of year."

"Are you and Kid coming to Wildwood?" asked Kyle, a hopeful smile on his face. "Iffen we leave now, we'll be there before nightfall."

"Even old sinners like all of us get to celebrate Christmas," encouraged Preacher.

Since his partner had taken ill again, Heyes had put Kid back in the warmer rear room away from the drafty door. Wheat, Kyle and Preacher hadn't been allowed inside to see Kid. Heyes glanced towards his partner. Through the open door, he could see Lobo with the back of his hand against Kid's forehead. The gang's medic pursed his lips in a worried frown. A restless movement turned Kid's face towards Heyes. The young blond's face was flushed almost as red as his long johns. Heyes felt something hard and sharp as flint settle into his gut. He swallowed as Lobo stood up. Shaking his shaggy head, the outlaw started back to the front of the cabin.

"Kid ain't fit to ride into Wildwood," declared Heyes.

Kyle's eyes went wide. Wheat and Preacher shuffled their feet and looked from Heyes to Lobo as the wild haired man closed the bedroom door behind him and came to stand beside Preacher.

"He's worse?" grumbled Wheat. "I thought you said Kid just had a bad cold."

"Has Kid got the blood poisonin' again?" asked Preacher with a concerned tone.

"No. Kid's runnin' a fever, but it ain't because of his leg," soothed Lobo. At the worried faces around him, Lobo huffed, "Kid's gonna be fine, it ain't like he's on his deathbed!"

"Wildwood won't be any fun at all if Kid can't go," lamented Kyle.

Fever. Worse. Heyes felt frustration building inside him. Whether from the infection in Kid's leg or a new infection of some sort didn't matter to Heyes. His partner was ill, wasting away, and there was nothing Heyes could do to make Kid better.

"Quiet now everybody. Quiet down, my partner's trying to rest," snapped Heyes. "And don't worry about Christmas, we ain't havin' Christmas!"

The angry words were out of Heyes mouth before he realized it. Kyle's jaw dropped open.

"Heyes, you can't cancel Christmas!" objected Kyle.

"We're not having Christmas at Devil's Hole," amended Heyes.

"Huh?" Kyle's blue eyes looked confused. "That don't make no sense at all. No matter what folks call it, Christmas is everywhere!"

"You boys go on into Wildwood," ordered Heyes, his voice sounding harsher than he had intended. "Have a good time. Celebrate Christmas! I ain't stopping ya!"

"Heyes!" pleaded the littlest outlaw. "You and Kid..."

"Kyle! This ain't no safe haven for celebrating! This is Devil's Hole! It's a hideout so we don't get captured or killed," interrupted Heyes. "Be glad we ain't in some home for waywards or worse yet, prison! You boys go to Wildwood! Keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine."

"But you don't keep Christmas Heyes!" objected Kyle. "Christmas is to be shared!"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"We're on our own Kid," muttered Heyes.

The slim hipped man stood by the window as he watched Wheat, Preacher, Lobo and Kyle ride out. Kyle stopped at the crest of the ridge and looked back for a moment before riding on. A weak moan sounded from the bedroom.

"I'm coming partner," called Heyes.

Worried dark brown eyes watched as water filled the blue tin cup. A moment later, deft fingers held Kid's chin as he lifted the water cup to his partner's lips. Disheveled blond curls clung to Kid's forehead.

"You're getting to look more and more like Grampa as you get older," confided Heyes.

"'m not," mumbled Kid. His ragged breathing made his words hard to understand. "I take af… after… my mother mostly."

Heyes regarded his younger cousin. Kid's coloring, blond hair and blue eyes, was definitely from tiny Aunt Mary. But, although Kid was thinner now from his illness, the normally sturdy, well-built body was just like Grampa's, and Kid had the Curry curls, not his mother's and brother Henry's straight gold hair.

"Mostly," agreed Heyes with a smirk, "but Aunt Mary never had stubble on her jawline."

Kid rolled his blue eyes, but he didn't have the strength to provide a comeback. He soon slipped into another restless sleep. Heyes spent the rest of the morning puttering around the front room. He stoked the black cast iron stove and added more wood to the fire blazing on the hearth. He brought more water to Kid and finished the coffee. At midday, Heyes tried to coax his partner to eat some beef and barley soup. Then while Kid napped, Heyes tackled the clutter on his desk. By dusk, Heyes had burned most of the old papers. The railroad timetables were neatly stacked in a pile beside his notepad, next to the note about the bank in Hot Sulfur Springs, while the ruler and writing utensils were lined up in a precise row. The pocket watch was tucked in Heyes' vest pocket. The dark haired mastermind crossed the twenty-fourth day off on the calendar and peered into the back room. Kid was still sleeping, so Heyes decided to make a trip to the outbuilding.

"Shoulda lit the lantern," grumbled Heyes upon his return to the darkened cabin.

Heyes stumbled on the step, landing on his knees. Face to face with a moldy green knothole on the heavy wooden door, Heyes shook his head. The semblance of an eye regarded him. The genius pushed himself upright again.

"That knothole does not look like Grampa's eye watching me," insisted Heyes.

Inside the cabin once more, he checked on Kid. His partner tossed and turned. Heyes re-tucked the blanket in around Kid, before returning to the front room. He eyed the cold coffee pot critically for a moment before deciding against making another pot. A shadow fell across the floor. Heyes turned his head to see the would be intruder and found himself staring face to face with Grampa Curry. The sharp green eyed gaze of the gray haired man looked very stern.

"Grampa?" blurted out Heyes before he could stop himself.

"You know who I am!"

The outlaw shook his head as if to jump start his critical thinking skills, but the best Heyes could come up with was a simple declaration of fact.

"You can't be here," objected Heyes. "You're dead. Dead and buried."

"I'm here boy!"

The dismissive word, boy, irritated Heyes. He hadn't been a boy since his childhood home in Kansas had been destroyed along with nearly everyone he loved.

"I'm twenty-nine years old Grampa," scoffed Heyes. "Ain't been a boy in a long while."

"You'll always be my grand boy," huffed the apparition.

Grand boy. The phrase brought a sudden moisture to Heyes' dark eyes. Grampa had always called the Heyes and Curry children his Grands, as if they were the most wondrous creations imaginable. Heyes shook his head with recognition. There was no doubt about it. Either Grampa Curry's ghost was standing before him or Heyes had gone mad, Heyes preferred to believe in Grampa rather than insanity.

"Why are you here?" asked Heyes. "What do you want with me?"

"Much! I have sat invisible beside you many and many a day," growled Grampa's voice. Heyes winced at the idea that Grampa had been watching him. "You're in a world of trouble and bringing more down upon you and little Jed."

"Jed ain't so little now," objected Heyes. "And he brings on a fair amount of his own trouble."

Grampa's jaw dropped open in a howl of outrage. The loud sound rattled through the cabin like chains being dragged over metal grating, hard and scraping. Heyes doubled over, clasping his hands over his ears.

"Oww!" Heyes cried. "Grampa why are you howling so?"

The sound continued. Heyes looked up to see hard metal links of forged iron appear in Grampa's hands. The gray haired ghost shook chains, the clanking sound even more ominous than his howl. Heyes' brown eyes widened. He wasn't looking forward to telling Kid about the latest update to the wanted posters. Heyes knew that since the Hanford job, he and Kid were now wanted dead or alive. Heyes had no intention of keeping the information from Kid, but with his partner's precarious health the past two months, Heyes still hadn't said a word. Was prison their fate?

"Boy, of the worldly mind, these chains may well be yours. Listen and learn!" replied Grampa. "You have yet a chance and hope of escaping the fate you seem to be so determined to meet."

"Grampa?" asked Heyes. The idea of escape lighting up his dark eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Han, you will be haunted by Three Spirits," declared Grampa. "Expect the first tomorrow when the bell tolls one."

Heyes gulped at the idea of more ghosts, but the bell was a problem.

"Grampa, we don't have a bell in Devil's Hole," objected Heyes.

But Grampa was gone.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-


	2. The First of the Three Spirits

Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. Nor does Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol. This is fan fiction, not for profit.

Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.

A/N – story presumes the details on the wanted posters are not entirely accurate. Story exists in the same No Amnesty - Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories.

Alias A Christmas Carol

 **Chapter 2: The First of the Three Spirits - Christmas 1855 and 1867**

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Devil's Hole - December 1879

"I must be more tired than I thought," muttered Heyes. "I'm imagining things."

He shook his head. The front room contained no ghost of Grampa Curry, nor chains. Heyes checked on his partner as well. Kid rolled restlessly on the bed. Tendrils of damp blond curls clung to his forehead. Heyes went back into the front room, pulled off his boots, but decided to keep all his other clothing on due to the chill. He hung the pocket watch on a nail in the wall beside the bedpost before he stretched out on Kid's hard narrow bed.

"Partner," murmured Heyes as he rolled over and punched the lumpy pillow, "I don't know how you've managed to sleep on this thing. The table is softer than this!"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

A peal of laughter, silvery bright like bells chiming, pierced Heyes' dreams.

"Han," called a soft childish voice.

Heyes opened one dark brown eye and then the other. The tip of his nose was cold. He faced the outer wall of the cabin. Somehow he'd managed to fall asleep on Kid's cold hard bed.

"Han, wake up sleepyhead, it's one o'clock!"

The voice again. Heyes rolled over and found himself staring into a pair of dark brown eyes very like his own. The ten year old girl knelt on the floor beside the bed, her chin resting on the edge of the mattress. Her long dark brown hair was tied back with a red ribbon. Her eyes gleamed with mischief.

"Cleo?"

"C'mon Han," urged the ghost of his little sister. Cleopatra Euridice Heyes stood up and extended her hand towards him. "We've got lots to do!"

"What are you doing here Cleo?" mumbled Heyes. "Are you one of the spirits Grampa said would be coming?"

"I am!" responded Cleo with a smirk.

The girl danced across the room. Small black boots tapped on the floor. The ruffled pinafore over her gingham dress fluttered as she spun counter clockwise in a circle with her arms out. The motion made Heyes dizzy to look at.

"Which one?"

"The Ghost of Christmas Past of course," grinned Cleo. "Who else would I be?"

"Dunno," grumbled the outlaw, "I haven't had much experience with ghosts up until tonight."

He swung his feet around to the floor and stood up beside the child. He could feel the chill in the floorboards through his socks. Heyes blinked back sudden moisture from his eyes. When he was thirteen and she ten, he'd been half a head taller than his younger sister. Full grown, he now towered over her.

"Whose past?" asked Heyes. "Yours?"

"No silly," answered Cleo. She held out her hand expectantly. As he took her hand, she added, "Your past."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

A swirl of dark and light. Heyes blinked his eyes and the cabin at Devil's Hole was gone. Instead, he and Cleo now stood outside a familiar Kansas home. Warm golden light glowed from the kerosene lamp on the table.

" _Owen," called a cultured voice. "In here."_

 _Heyes turned to look towards the barn. The empty Curry wagon stood unhitched by the large, well maintained building. Heyes' father held the barn door open, reins to one of the sturdy roans in his hand. Uncle Owen followed, leading the second roan. Ten year old Ptol and Kid's older brother Henry gathered kindling from the woodpile. Kid's oldest sister, eight year old Maeve carried an apron full of potatoes up the stairs of the root cellar. Bridget followed clutching a bunch of carrots to her chest. A soft throaty chuckle caused Heyes to turn his head._

"Ma," breathed Heyes. He turned to his sister, "We're home. When is this?"

"Dunno," replied Cleo, "it's not my memory."

 _Inside, his mother stood at the stove, her back to Heyes. Copper red curls tumbled over her shoulders. Aunt Mary, in a blue gingham dress, stood beside her. Moira Heyes held a spoon out, Aunt Mary tasted the plum pudding and shook her head and reached for a spice tin. In the center of the room, five year old Han sat on a pallet with his army men spread across the plaid blanket. Fourteen month old Jed rolled over on his belly and reached for one of the toys._

" _No Jed," admonished Han taking the slobbery figure from his cousin. "This isn't good to eat."_

 _The chubby blond toddler gaped at his now empty hand, opening and closing his little fingers for a moment before he decided on another course of action. Little Jed pushed himself up. He wobbled unsteadily with his newly found skill, then little Jed staggered away from his cousin, towards the blazing hearth._

" _No Jed!" exclaimed Han._

 _The dark haired boy leapt after his cousin, toy soldiers abandoned on the blanket. A howl of protest and Han fell backwards, away from the fire, little Jed clutched safely in his arms._

" _What on earth!" exclaimed Moira Heyes. "Boys!"_

 _The women turned from the stove and rushed towards the boys. Aunt Mary grabbed Jed and hugged him close, while Han's mother helped Han up from the floor. The front door opened. Father, Uncle Owen, Ptol, Henry, Maeve and Bridget all crowded into the room, followed by Grampa. Hugs, kisses, and laughter abounded. Potatoes and carrots were peeled and soon joined the venison roasting inside the oven. Grampa sat in the rocker by the fire and pulled Jed up into his lap while the older children sat on the pallet to listen to him read._

" _Marley was dead, to begin with," started Grampa._

"This has to be eighteen fifty-five," declared Heyes. "And you're wrong, this isn't just my Christmas past, it's your Christmas too."

"What do you mean?" asked Cleo.

Heyes pointed to the trundle bed peeking out from beneath the edge of the double wedding ring quilt on his parent's bed. The dark haired two year old bundle, wrapped in pink with her rear arched upwards and her thumb in her mouth, napped on, oblivious to the joyful noise in the front room.

"In about ten minutes, you're gonna wake up," grinned Heyes, "and we won't hear the rest of the story until after supper."

"That must mean it's time to go," smiled Cleo as she reached out for his arm.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

A swirl of dark and light. Heyes blinked his eyes. He and Cleo stood outside a jail. Inside, the visage of seventeen year old Hannibal Heyes paced back and forth across a tiny cell. A lawman, identifiable by the badge on his chest, snoozed in a nearby chair with his feet propped up on a desk and a hat covering his face.

"We're not in Kansas anymore," stated Heyes glumly. "I remember this Christmas. Wyoming Territory, eighteen sixty-seven. It was the first time I had ever been arrested."

 _"God bless you, merry gentleman, may nothing you dismay!"_

Heyes turned at the sound. Inebriated men singing at the top of their lungs staggered down the street towards the jail cell. Heyes shook his head with a rueful grin.

"Who are they?" asked Cleo.

"The Plummer Gang," answered Heyes. "Perhaps the West's least successful outlaw bunch. The only really big haul they ever got was stolen from them by their leader."

"Least successful?" questioned Cleo. "They had to have done something right or they wouldn't have stayed together long."

"Well, none of them ever stayed in jail overnight and they ate regular," conceded Heyes, "Nothing fancy, but the food was filling."

"What do you mean?"

"Watch," smirked Heyes.

 _The carolers proceeded down the street. Inside the jail, the snuffling beneath the lawman's hat stopped. The chair squeaked as the sleepy eyed lawman got up. The man yawned, glanced at his pacing prisoner, and clomped to the door. The sleepy lawman frowned at the approaching singers._

 _"You boys be quiet!" ordered the lawman. "You're gonna wake up the entire town!"_

 _The singers staggered closer, seemingly oblivious to the peace officer. The lawman stepped outside of the building, one hand raised, finger pointing to the silent stars. A metallic click sounded by his ear, a cold round metal barrel pressed against the back of his head._

 _"Don't move," ordered Jim Plummer. "I've got you covered!"_

 _The lawman froze, the carolers stopped as well._

 _"Al, get the keys!" The slim dark haired outlaw leader called out._

 _A younger man, similar in build and coloring to Jim Plummer, detached himself from the processional and moved to pat down the lawman. Al pulled out a jangling set of keys from the lawman's pocket, held it up and grinned._

 _"Don't just stand there Al," hissed Plummer, "go unlock Heyes' cell so we can get outta here!"_

 _"Okay Jim," nodded Al Plummer, "I'll get Hannibal."_

"Jim and Al weren't known for being discreet," muttered Heyes. "The first wanted poster with my name on it appeared after this jailbreak, for robbing the mercantile of a wagon load of fifty pound bags of potatoes."

"But you had your freedom," reminded Cleo.

"And boiled potatoes for breakfast when we got back to camp," chuckled Heyes. "We ate potatoes every day for the next three months.

"Free and with food for your belly," replied Cleo. "That's more than some people had that Christmas."

Something in his sister's tone made Heyes narrow his eyes.

"Cleo?" asked Heyes. "You got anyone particular in mind?"

"It's not your memory," responded the girl looking sad.

"Cleo?" prodded Heyes, his voice a little louder this time.

"Alright!" conceded Cleo, "but don't tell that I showed you!"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

A swirl of dark and light. Heyes blinked his eyes. He and Cleo stood outside.

"Valparaiso," Heyes breathed. "What are we doing here?"

The windows to the dining hall glowed with a harsh white light. Footsteps shuffled on the floorboards as hungry boys lined up to get food.

"Not that window," whispered Cleo. Her small hand gestured to a narrow rectangle of glass streaked with black coal dust.

"The coal cellar?" asked Heyes.

Cleo nodded. Heyes knelt on the cold earth and peered inside. It was hard to see in the darkness, but his sharp ears caught the murmur of his cousin's voice before he realized the shape rocking back and forth was Kid. The skinny thirteen year old had his eyes closed and his arms clasped around knees drawn up to his chin.

 _"One of the best Christmas' ever," whispered Kid. His voice called out images as he rocked. "Ma made gingerbread men for the Christmas Eve social. Aunt Moira made buttermilk pound cake. There was fiddle music. Folks danced. We all rode home in the wagon together, laughing and singing songs, and the snowflakes glistened like silver, and Grampa had me and Han on his lap with that scratchy red wool blanket, and…"_

"He's being punished," realized Heyes.

Cleo nodded.

Heyes' jaw set in a hard tense line.

"What did he do to deserve being locked in the coal cellar with no supper on Christmas Eve?"

"I don't know," whispered Cleo, "it's not my memory."

 _"And when we reached home, Pa surprised Ma with a kiss beneath the mistletoe," continued Kid. "And we all said Merry Christmas."_

 _Kid's blue eyes shot open and the boy's voice steadied._

 _"Heyes," called Kid, "where ever you are, Merry Christmas!"_

Heyes swallowed. Not for the first time, he regretted not taking his young cousin with him when he'd been discharged from the _Home For Waywards_. At the time, the seeming security of a roof overhead and regular meals for his cousin appeared to be a better option than trying to take Kid with him.

"I shoulda taken you with me, at least we coulda eaten potatoes together," whispered Heyes, blinking back the moisture from his eyes. "Merry Christmas Kid."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

A swirl of dark and light. Heyes blinked his eyes. He and Cleo were back in the cabin.

"Those were shadows of the things that have been," said Cleo. "They are what they are, and can't be changed."

"Then why show them to me?" snapped Heyes.

The smile on her face faltered.

"Don't you know?" whispered Cleo.

"Know what?" demanded Heyes.

Cleo released his hand.

"And you're supposed to be a genius," chided his little sister shaking her dark haired head. "Expect the next spirit when the bell tolls two."

"Cleo, we don't have a bell in Devil's Hole," objected Heyes.

But Cleo was gone.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-


	3. The Second of the Three Spirits

Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. Nor does Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol. This is fan fiction, not for profit.

Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.

A/N – story presumes the details on the wanted posters are not entirely accurate. Story exists in the same No Amnesty - Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories.

Alias A Christmas Carol

 **Chapter 3: The Second of the Three Spirits: Christmas Eve 1879**

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Devil's Hole - December 1879

Heyes bolted upright in the bed beside the drafty front door, his breath coming in short hard gasps. A log snapped in the fireplace, bark burnt white and ashy. A tiny bright spark soared up the chimney, heavenward.

"Cleo?" he whispered.

There was no answer from his little sister, dead these past sixteen years. A hacking cough sounded from the rear bedroom. Heyes shook his head to clear it of dreams and went to fetch his partner another cup of water.

"Kid," urged Heyes, "drink this."

He lifted his partner's shoulders and held the blue tin cup towards Kid's flushed face. Water dribbled down the stubbled chin as Kid gulped. Gratitude shone from blue eyes.

"How are you feelin'?" asked Heyes.

"C-cold," rasped Kid, his voice hoarse.

Heyes resisted the urge to shout "You can't be cold, you're burning up with fever!" Instead his lips spread across his face with a dimpled smile as he tried to hide his worry. He set the empty cup down and tucked the gray blanket around his cousin once more. Sleepy blue eyes blinked.

"Betcha wish we had Grampa's old red wool blanket right about now," responded Heyes. "That scratchy thing sure kept us warm on that snowy ride back home from the Christmas Eve social."

"Thought it was Grampa's arms around us that kept us warm," objected Kid with a small yawn.

"Either way," snorted Heyes, "that was the best Christmas ever."

"One of the best Christmas' ever," agreed Kid. He smiled at the memory. "Remember we all sang _Jingle Bells_? And the bells on the horse's collars kept ringing as they trotted towards home…"

Kid drifted back to sleep in mid-sentence leaving Heyes remembering the sounds of that happy Christmas long ago.

"Yeah Kid," whispered Heyes, "I remember."

He rose to stand and padded away from the bed in his stocking feet. A large presence loomed in the front room. Heyes strode forward, determined to meet the next spirit.

"Are you the Spirit whose coming was foretold?" asked Heyes.

The Spirit's eyes were clear and kind. Clothed in a simple deep green robe bordered with white fur, the garment hung so loosely on its figure that its capacious breast was bare. The Spirit's feet protruding from beneath the ample folds of the garment, were also bare; and on its head it wore no other covering than a holly wreath, set here and there with shining icicles. The Spirit's dark brown curls were long and free; free as its genial face, its sparkling eyes, its open hand, its cheery voice, its unconstrained demeanor, and its joyful air. Girded round its middle was an antique scabbard; but no sword was in it, and the ancient sheath was eaten up with rust.

"I am the Ghost of Christmas Present," greeted the Spirit. He spread his arms wide with a wide grin. "Look on me and Behold! You have never seen anything like me before and never shall again."

"What is it you want to show me Spirit?" demanded Heyes.

The Spirit's grin slipped just a bit. He extended a hand towards Heyes. The strategist reached out and clasped it firmly.

"Conduct me where you will," replied the genius.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

A swirl of dark and light. Heyes blinked his eyes and the cabin at Devil's Hole was gone. Instead, he and the Spirit stood in a familiar Wyoming town.

"Wildwood," recognized Heyes. He nodded towards the large glass paned window in the nearest building. "And that's the mercantile."

The Spirit nodded with a jovial grin and gestured to indicate they should draw closer. Inside the store, Heyes saw three familiar figures. Lobo and Kyle each held a small bag, Wheat was at the register paying the shopkeeper for another purchase. Bells over the door jangled as Preacher entered. The tall man carried a package, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, beneath one arm.

"Wheat," reminded Preacher, "we need to get going."

The four men exited the shop and turned to stride up the street away from Heyes and the Spirit. Two buildings further up the road, the posts in front of the Wildwood Saloon were bedecked with gaudy red ribbon. A burst of raucous music blared out the doors every time someone entered or exited. Further down the street, beyond the saloon, an empty corral was visible. The stable doors were shut tight against the cold. At the end of the street, a small white church beckoned with doors wide open.

"Phhtt," snorted Heyes. "I hope they don't get too liquored up and shoot holes in the ceiling again!"

"Is that all that you see?" asked the Spirit sounding disappointed.

"Yeah," grunted the outlaw mastermind. "What else do you want to show me?"

A holly leaf detached from the wreath encircling the Spirit's head. The leaf fluttered downwards to land upon the cold, hard ground between their feet. The Spirit extended his hand once more to Heyes.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

A swirl of dark and light. Heyes blinked his eyes. He and the Spirit stood in an unfamiliar town. Warm, golden light streamed from the front window of the nearest home. The Spirit beckoned. Clem stood in front of a large Christmas tree adorned with ribbons, crocheted snowflakes, and tiny packages tied to branches. She laughed as a little fellow with dark brown curls ran towards her. A blond haired man beamed happily as he tugged on his red suspenders. Beyond the edge of the tree, Heyes caught a glimpse of an approaching green skirt. A woman's hands extended a tray with three crystal teacups containing a frothy white beverage.

"Clem," identified Heyes. "This must be her cousin's home. She goes to visit him every Christmas since he got married, Clem always says his wife's recipe is the best eggnog she's ever had."

Clem scooped up the little boy and stepped forward to join her cousin. Heyes' view of the other woman's face remained blocked by the tree. The three adults raised their glasses in a toast, the child on Clem's hips squirmed, reaching his hands in an attempt to grasp the cup.

"To friends," declared Clem with a bright smile, "near and far."

Glasses clinked and Heyes felt the spirt tug him away from the window. Heyes narrowed his eyes, noting the Spirit's altered appearance. Streaks of gray ran through the Spirit's once dark brown hair.

"You and your partner have known her since your school days," prodded the Spirit, "right?"

"She's more Kid's friend than mine," dissembled Heyes. "They were in the same class together once."

Another holly leaf detached from the wreath encircling the gray streaked hair on the Spirit's head. The leaf fluttered for a moment, until a chill breeze snatched it up and spun it away through the air. The Spirit extended his hand once more to Heyes.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

A swirl of dark and light. Heyes blinked his eyes and blinked again. They stood in a narrow alley between two wooden buildings. The windows on the right were dark. The building on the left had bars covering the windows. Inside he could see a familiar lawman.

"Lom!" breathed Heyes.

"Wilkins, don't place those two posters on top," advised Sheriff Trevors.

The skinny deputy turned away from the bulletin board to face his supervisor, looking puzzled. In his hands, Heyes recognized two posters, newly updated with the phrase _"Wanted Dead Or Alive"_ and the increased reward amount since the Hanford job, $10000.

"But these fellas have the highest reward," objected Wilkins.

"Banks and railroads have a lotta money to spend on rewards," reminded Lom. "But in all the banks and trains they've robbed those two have never shot anyone."

"Then whose poster's do you want on top then?" asked Wilkins.

"Put the posters for them murderers that killed Widow Jeffries husband up front where everybody can see them," answered Lom.

Heyes turned to face the Spirit and blinked yet again. The Spirit seemed clearly older, his hair completely gray, the few remaining holly leaves on his wreath now withered, dry and brown.

"How long have we been gone?" asked Heyes, wondering how his own visage appeared. He touched a slender hand to the side of his face and saw his still youthful appearance reflected in the darkened glass of the adjacent building. "Are spirits' lives so short?"

"My life upon this globe is very brief," replied the Ghost. "It ends tonight."

"Tonight!" cried Heyes.

"Tonight! At midnight! The time is drawing near."

From the foldings of the Spirit's robe it brought two children; wretched, abject, frightful, hideous, miserable. They knelt down at the Spirit's feet, and clung upon the outside of its garment.

"Oh, Man! Look here! Look, look, down here!" exclaimed the Ghost.

They were a boy and girl. Yellow, meagre, ragged, scowling, wolfish; but prostrate, too, in their humility. Where graceful youth should have filled their features out, and touched them with its freshest tints, a stale and shriveled hand, like that of age, had pinched, and twisted them, and pulled them into shreds. Where angels might have sat enthroned, devils lurked, and glared out menacing. No change, no degradation, no perversion of humanity, in any grade, through all the mysteries of wonderful creation, had monsters half so horrible and dread.

"Spirit! Are they yours?" asked Heyes

The slender dark haired man started back, appalled. Having them shown to him in this way, he tried to say they were fine children, but the words choked themselves, rather than be parties to a lie of such enormous magnitude.

"They are Man's," said the Spirit, looking down upon them. "And they cling to me, appealing from their fathers. This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. Beware of them both, and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy, for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the writing be erased."

"Doom?" echoed Heyes. "What do you mean? Have they no refuge or safe haven?"

"There are orphanages, homes for waywards, prisons too," reminded the Spirit, turning on him for the last time with his own words. "Would you have them go there? Is that a refuge?"

The clock in the steeple of the Porterville city hall building began tolling. Bong... Bong... Bong...

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

A swirl of dark and light. Heyes blinked his eyes open as the bell struck twelve. The echo of the Porterville clock reverberated in his mind. He looked about for the Ghost, but it was gone. He sat up in the bed. The sound of coughing came from the rear bedroom. Heyes turned to look in Kid's direction, but a chill draft from the nearby door blew across his neck. Heyes remembered Grampa's prediction. He turned back to face the door. Heyes beheld a solemn Phantom, draped and hooded, coming like a mist across the wooden planks towards him.

"Am I in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?" asked Heyes.

The Spirit answered not, but stretched out its hand.

"You are about to show me shadows of the things that have not happened, but will happen in the time before us," Heyes prodded. "Is that right?"

The Phantom nodded. Grampa's foreboding words had left Heyes with an ominous feeling about this Spirit's visit, but he tried not to let his fear show. Instead he stood up and reached for the Phantom's hand.

"Ghost of the Future!" Heyes exclaimed, "What is it you wish to show me?"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-


	4. The Last of the Spirits: December 1880

Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. Nor does Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol. This is fan fiction, not for profit.

Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.

A/N – story presumes the details on the wanted posters are not entirely accurate. Story exists in the same No Amnesty - Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories.

Alias A Christmas Carol

 **Chapter 4: The Last of the Spirits: December 1880**

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Christmas Eve 1903

"The Phantom slowly, gravely, silently approached," read Heyes. "When it came near him, Scrooge bent down upon his knee; for in the very air through which this Spirit moved it seemed to scatter gloom and mystery."

"Joshua," called Kid's soft voice.

Heyes looked up from the page of the book. His partner sat upright on the overstuffed chair. The two five year olds cuddled against their father, blue eyes wide open. They stared at Heyes. While most of the family and friends gathered together were familiar with the story, this was the first Christmas Eve that Charlotte and Carolyn had managed to stay awake long enough to hear it.

"I ain't too fond of this next part," admitted Kid, "always seemed more like a Halloween story than a Christmas story."

Arthur's dark head bolted up. The boy turned to his mother.

"Cousin Thaddeus said _ain't,_ " whispered Arthur. "How come you _ain't_ tellin' him to mind his grammar?"

Heyes had to swallow his smirk as Clem leaned forward, her tiny upturned nose almost touching Arthur's nose. The one time school teacher smiled sweetly.

"I'm not his mother, I'm your mother," reminded Clem.

From across the room, Jenny Black chuckled.

"Thaddeus," remonstrated Kid's second mother, "don't say _ain't_."

"Especially not when children are listening," smirked Big Mac.

"Or their mothers," added Harry with a chuckle.

Kid huffed in exasperation. The exhalation fluttered the curls above his forehead. Heyes and Kid exchanged a glance. Kid nodded to the children seated in his lap.

"Do you think we could just get to the good part a little quicker?" asked Kid.

"The girls look chilly," observed George. "Maybe this will help."

The slender dark haired woman removed a festive red knitted shawl from her shoulders and passed it to Lom. The retired lawman awkwardly draped it over the two little girls and Kid as well. Heyes waited until his partner had both girls securely tucked under the red cloth before he answered.

"Grampa always said you had to have the dark to appreciate the light," responded Heyes. "And I'm not quite sure Mr. Dickens would appreciate me meddling with his story."

"There's little children listening," reminded Kid.

"I'm not little," piped up Charlotte.

"Me neither!" insisted Carolyn. She held up a pudgy little hand, five fingers spread wide. "We're five!"

The little hand curled up into a tiny fist.

"An iffen any old Phantom comes round spreading gloom and misery, we'll sock him," declared Carolyn.

"Who taught you how to make a fist?" asked Kid, his eyebrow rising.

"Learned it at school," replied the child proudly as Charlotte nodded in agreement.

"Now let's see, where was I? Mystery, not misery," smiled Heyes. He looked back down at the book and began reading again, as he remembered another night. "Shrouded in a deep black garment, which concealed its head…"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Devil's Hole - December 1879

A swirl of dark and light. Heyes blinked his eyes and the cabin at Devil's Hole was gone. Instead, he and the Phantom stood in windblown grasslands facing a large building of gray sandstone. A high wooden fence extended from either side of the building. Guard towers dotted the fence line.

"The Wyoming Territorial Prison," recognized Heyes. Big Jim was kept here, Heyes had cased the place once, before receiving word not to try to break his friend out. "Why are we here?"

The Phantom didn't answer, merely pointed a spectral hand.

 _An armed guard approached the nearest watch tower. The first guard stopped and waited while the man above him climbed down the ladder. As soon as the second man's feet touched the ground, he spun and faced the first._

 _"Is it true?" asked the climber. "Is he dead?"_

" _Our most famous bank robber is dead," conceded the first guard with a snort. "But the warden ain't signed off on the burial certificate yet."_

" _Huh?" asked the second guard. "Why not?"_

" _That lawyer fella that's been appealing the sentence is now trying to get the body removed for burial some other place, not here," answered the first._

 _The second guard raised an eyebrow at that information._

" _Warden oughtta let him take the body," declared the second. "It would save us the trouble of having to take a burial detail out the gates to the churchyard."_

" _I hate burial details," grumbled the first guard as he started to climb the ladder up to the watch tower. "The prisoners doing the digging tend to get in an uproar, especially if they liked the fella they's burying."_

" _Too much of an uproar," reminded the second with a harsh laugh, "and they might wind up needing to be buried themselves."_

 _More harsh laughter floated downwards from the watch tower in agreement._

The dark haired Kansan glared at the Phantom as if the apparition were to blame for the guard's callousness. Big Jim Santana was the most famous prisoner in the Wyoming Territorial Prison, and once the leader of the Devil's Hole Gang. Heyes couldn't miss the implication.

"Are we done here?" fumed Heyes.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

A swirl of dark and light. Heyes blinked his eyes. He and the Spirit stood in a small office. A wall calendar dated December 1880 hung behind a rotund man. Heyes gasped. Was this future only a scant twelve months from his own present?

" _No," the man behind the desk glared. "He's gonna be buried in a grave at the prison lot with a numbered marker. No name!"_

" _Warden, have some compassion," urged the man with graying blond hair and red suspenders peeking out from beneath his suit coat. He leaned forward placing his hands upon the desk. "His family…"_

" _He doesn't have a family," retorted the warden._

"Big Jim doesn't have any living family," stated Heyes. He glanced at the Phantom. "Who is this lawyer working for? And why does he want the body?"

The Phantom didn't answer.

"If there is any person who feels tender emotion caused by this man's death," snapped Heyes, "show that person to me!"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

A swirl of dark and light. Heyes blinked his eyes and blinked again. He and the Phantom stood near a small fenced graveyard. The sign over the arched carriage entrance read Central Springs, Colorado. A small dark haired woman knelt before a grave, talking, crying, words indistinguishable. Standing a short way behind her, a tall, slim woman in a fashionable travelling suit waited. Tears glistened in her eyes.

"What are you doing here George?" asked Heyes.

Clem had told him George had gone east to study music. He hadn't seen his friend since she left San Francisco. Further down the street, a tall man with a familiar rolling gait and a white hat made his way towards the graveyard. He held a folded piece of paper in his hand.

"Lom?" asked Heyes. "What are you doing here?"

" _Any news?" asked George._

 _Lom glanced at the paper in his hand._

" _Yeah, but she's not gonna like it," answered Lom. "Warden insists on burying him in Wyoming."_

 _George's chin quivered. The tears glistening in her eyes spilled over. She leaned forward and Lom wrapped his arms around her shoulders, patting her awkwardly on the back. The tiny woman at the grave looked over her shoulder, Heyes recognized Clem's tear streaked face._

"Who are they talking about?" demanded Heyes.

He had a sick feeling in his stomach. Lom knew Big Jim, but as far as he knew, neither Clem nor George had ever met the former leader of the Devil's Hole Gang.

"Who died at the prison?" asked Heyes. He pointed to the grave. "Who's buried here?"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

A swirl of dark and light. Heyes blinked. He and the Phantom stood in windblown grasslands facing a small whitewashed church. In the distance, a prison wagon could be seen approaching on the road leading from the Wyoming Territorial Prison. Two armed guards sat in front with the driver. In the back five men, dressed in black and white striped clothing slumped against the wagon bed. A coffin bounced up and down as the wagon jolted over the rutted road.

"They're here to bury someone," stated Heyes. "The man the guards were talking about earlier?"

The Phantom nodded.

" _Whoa," called the driver as he reined in the team._

 _The guards jumped down and moved to open the rear of the wagon. Chains rattled as the prisoners moved to stand. The first man to clamber out of the wagon, fell to his knees._

" _Now cut that out, or we'll be here all day," grumbled the tallest guard._

 _The second prisoner jumped down. The burly man balanced precariously and then extended his hands to the smaller man._

" _Yeah," urged the shorter guard. "Hurry up, all of you! I wanna get back in time for supper."_

 _Kyle looked up from the ground. The littlest outlaw had an expression of hatred on his face that Heyes would never have thought possible to see. Kyle tightened his grip on his partner's hands as Wheat hauled him upright._

" _Whattdya think Wheat?" hissed Kyle, rage tinging his every word. He glanced at the coffin still in the wagon. "I'm thinking he had the right idea. Do you wanna try assaulting a guard?"_

 _The guard's rifle swiveled to point directly at Kyle._

" _No talking!" snarled the guard._

 _Wheat placed a hand upon his partner's arm. The prisoner shook his head sadly._

" _No! He went after the man that killed his partner," replied Wheat. "You can't give up Kyle, you only got fourteen months, eleven days left."_

 _"What makes you think I can handle two years here?"_ _snapped Kyle._ " _He couldn't take it here anymore."_

" _I said no talking!" repeated the guard._

 _The metallic sound of the guard's rifle being cocked did not deter Wheat and Kyle, but the next prisoners out of the wagon distracted the guard's attention. Lobo landed with a thump, followed by Preacher._

" _You still got your partner," reminded Wheat in a low murmur, lips barely moving. "We can get through this."_

 _Kyle's anger disappeared, to be replaced by a desolate expression of sorrow as he looked back at the coffin._

" _I got the shortest sentence of us all," reminded Kyle. "Whatcha gonna do if I make it through and get released?"_

" _Start countin' down the last thirty-six months of my sentence," replied Wheat with a little shrug._

 _The last prisoner jumped down. Tall and strong, Big Jim Santana surveyed the churchyard. The gang leader smiled at the guards before gesturing that the men needed to line up to haul the coffin out of the wagon. Big Jim stood with Kyle and Wheat on the side away from the guards view._

" _Don't do anything to get yourself killed," urged Big Jim._

"What happened to bring the boys here?" asked Heyes.

The Phantom did not answer. A chill that had nothing to do with the brisk wind blowing across the church yard made Heyes shiver.

"Is that Kid?"

The Phantom shook his head. Heyes swallowed. He couldn't imagine a circumstance that would bring him to this prison alive without his partner, but he had to ask.

"Me?"

The Phantom raised its hand, Heyes turned to watch.

 _The Devil's Hole Gang staggered across the graveyard carrying the coffin, hampered by their shackles. A chain dragged across a root, pulled tight. A knee buckled. The coffin tilted as one of the pall bearers fell._

Heyes closed his eyes against the sound of wood splintering as the casket hit the ground. A softer thump sounded as the body inside bounced out. An ooomph sounded from the guard as the body rolled against his legs tripping the man. A rifle shot rang out, followed by another and another and too many to count...

"Answer me one question," demanded Heyes in desperation. "Are these the shadows of the things that Will be, or are they shadows of the things that May be only?"

The steeple bell in the church started to ring out an alarm.

"Why show this to me, if we're past all hope?"

For the first time the spectral hand appeared to shake.

"Spirit," Heyes pleaded, "Assure me that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me?"

In his agony, he caught the spectral hand. It sought to free itself, but Heyes was strong in his entreaty, and detained it. The Spirit, stronger yet, repulsed him. Holding up his hands in a last prayer to have this fate reversed, he saw an alteration in the Phantom's hood and dress. It shrunk, collapsed, and dwindled down into a bedpost.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-


	5. The End of It? Or the Beginning?

Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. Nor does Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol. This is fan fiction, not for profit.

Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.

A/N – story presumes the details on the wanted posters are not entirely accurate. Story exists in the same No Amnesty - Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories.

Alias A Christmas Carol

 **Chapter 5: The End of It? Or the Beginning?**

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Devil's Hole - December 1879

"Yeehaw! Yes!" shouted Heyes in glad realization.

The bedpost was Kid's. Heyes was scrunched up on Kid's bed in the front room of the leader's cabin in Devil's Hole. He glanced at the pocket watch still hanging from the nail in the wall. Five minutes after midnight! Best and happiest of all, the time before him was his own, to make amends in!

"It's not too late," exulted Heyes.

"What's not too late?" asked Kid.

"Huh?"

Brown eyes looked up from the bedpost to see his partner standing in the doorway between the two rooms. Kid was in his red longjohns, feet bare, with the gray blanket that Heyes had repeatedly tried to tuck around him now draped over his shoulders. Kid's thin face no longer wore the flushed sign of fever, although his voice still sounded a little scratchy.

"Kid?" asked Heyes. "What are you doing out of bed? You're supposed to be gettin' better."

"I am better," countered Kid. He rubbed a hand across his stomach. "And I'm hungry."

Heyes' eyes brightened with delight. He rolled out of bed and padded across the cold floor in his socks. Heyes placed his hands to either side of his partner's face.

"No fever!" grinned Heyes. "And you're hungry!"

The slender fingers patted Kid's cheeks. Heyes released his partner and bounded back across the room.

"Heyes, you're scaring me," declared Kid. "Are you alright?"

"Alright?" chortled Heyes with glee. "Kid, I'm better than alright! I'm wonderful! And you're wonderful! And…"

"And I'm hungry," grumbled Kid.

The blond tilted his head to one side and watched his partner scurry around the room. The blue eyes narrowed.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"Merry Christmas Kid!" declared Heyes. "I'm gonna fix you something to eat."

"Christmas?" echoed Kid. "Is it really Christmas? Already?"

"It's been Christmas for at least five minutes now," chuckled Heyes. "We're up early, just like when we were children."

The young blond moved to the window and looked outside. Heyes set the black cast iron skillet atop the potbellied stove and then turned to root through the supply box.

"There's no light on at the bunkhouse," observed Kid. "Where is everybody?"

Heyes stopped, hand clasped around two fat potatoes. He tilted his head to look at his partner.

"They've gone to Wildwood," answered Heyes. "I told 'em Christmas was cancelled at Devil's Hole, so they went on without us."

"You can't cancel Christmas," objected Kid.

"Kyle said pretty much the same thing," agreed Heyes.

He plopped a dollop of lard in the frying pan and started slicing the potatoes. By the window, his partner started to smile.

"Heyes," grinned Kid. "You can't trick me."

"Huh?" Heyes dropped slices of potatoes into the sizzling lard. "What do you mean?"

"They're riding down the ridge right now."

"They are?"

"Yep," nodded Kid. His grin widened. "Can't you hear the bells?"

"Bells?" repeated Heyes feeling somewhat foolish. "What do you mean bells?"

"Dunno, sounds like the bells Grampa would put on the horses collars when we were little," answered Kid.

Heyes heard the sound of the barn door opening and closing. He reached for more potatoes.

"They left this morning," muttered Heyes. "To get back this soon, they musta turned right around when they got to Wildwood."

"Or maybe they didn't go to Wildwood," suggested Kid.

Heyes swallowed. The genius resisted the urge to tell his partner about his dream. It had seemed so real. The ghost of Christmas Present had shown him the gang in Wildwood. Had they been there?

"If they're coming in, you might want to get some pants on."

A short while later, Heyes dropped the last of the sliced potatoes into the frying pan. Boots stomped on the porch outside. Kid moved to open the door. Wheat, Kyle, Lobo, and Preacher stood outside, bundled in their heavy winter coats, scarves around their necks, hats pulled low. Each man carried a package. A piercing cold wind blew across the room, skittering the papers on Heyes's newly straightened desk. Heyes shivered.

"Either come in or stay out," snapped Heyes, "but whatever you do, shut the door."

Wheat grinned at Kid as he entered the room followed by Kyle, Lobo, and Preacher.

"You're up," greeted the burly outlaw. "How are you feeling?"

"What are you boys doing back so soon?" demanded Heyes before Kid had a chance to answer.

"We didn't feel right about leaving you all alone," explained Kyle. "Told you Wildwood tweren't gonna be no fun without you and Kid."

"While we was in Wildwood, I got some more willow bark," responded Lobo.

The wild haired outlaw held up a small paper sack and eyed his patient critically.

"Of course, iffen you're better now and don't need it," continued Lobo, "We should probably save it for another time."

"That's a good idea," agreed Kid.

Kid took the package from Lobo and went to set it in the supply box. His movement fluttered a loose paper on Heyes' desk. Heyes retrieved the errant paper and glanced at it. A chill ran up and down his spine. He crumpled up the plan to rob the bank in Hot Sulfur Springs and threw it into the fire. The bank at Hot Sulfur Springs was too close to Central Springs. Anywhere in Colorado was too close to the graveyard in his dream.

"Are you boys hungry?" asked Heyes. "We've got Christmas potatoes."

"Christmas potatoes?" echoed Kyle. "What's that?"

"It's Christmas, and they're potatoes," answered Heyes. He started pulling the hot potatoes out of the pan, setting them on a plate to cool. "It ain't much for Christmas celebration, but…"

"Well now Heyes," preened Wheat, "I got us all a little treat for the holiday."

Wheat opened his brown paper bag and pulled out several small tins.

"I got some of them oysters like we had at that hotel in Denver last year," grinned Wheat.

"Christmas ain't about treats," reminded Preacher.

Kyle poured the contents of his paper bag out across the table, peppermint candy sticks.

"Does that mean you don't want no candy?" asked Kyle.

"I didn't say that," grinned Preacher.

"And if you had let me finish," added Heyes as he reached into the back crevices of the supply box, "I woulda told you we had some whisky."

"Now you're talking," grinned Wheat.

Kid, Kyle, Lobo and Preacher all looked from Wheat to Heyes with grins on their faces.

"We've got potatoes, oysters, peppermint candy, and some of the Ripy brother's finest," replied Heyes as he uncorked the bottle of whisky. He raised the bottle high and made a toast. "Merry Christmas!"

Heyes took a deep swig and then passed the bottle to Kid. His partner took a gulp, wiped his hand across his face and passed the bottle to Lobo.

"Merry Christmas!" declared Kid as the bottle made its way from Lobo, to Kyle, to Wheat and finally to Preacher.

"What's that you got Preacher?" asked Heyes as the man awkwardly juggled a rectangular brown paper package tied with string.

"When we was in Wildwood," answered Preacher, "I checked the post office. This package was for Kid."

Preacher handed Kid the package. The blond felt along the edges and his face lit up with a smile when he read the return address, _Moravian Book Shop_.

"What did you get Kid?" asked Heyes.

His partner held out the package to Heyes.

"I ordered this book months ago, before we did the Hanford job," answered Kid. "It's your Christmas present."

Heyes peeled back the paper and stared at the book inside.

"A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens," added Kid, "I remembered you liked it."

Heyes opened and closed his mouth, remembering the story, remembering the dreams.

"Preacher, if you're not gonna take a drink of that," grumbled Wheat, "pass it on to someone who will."

Preacher took a hearty swig before passing the bottle. The whisky made its circuitous way around the room, finally reaching Kid again.

"God bless us every one!" said Kid.

The tall blond tilted the bottle upwards, and shook it. Then Kid gave a little shrug, the bottle was empty.

"Is there any more of that whisky?" asked Wheat.

As the warm rosy light of dawn peaked over the mountain ridge, Heyes and Kid leaned against the warm interior wall of the cabin. Long legs sprawled across the floorboards. Soft snores sounded from the other outlaws sleeping on the floor. Both men had slightly befuddled grins on their faces.

"Best Christmas?" asked Heyes.

"Eighteen-seventy one," replied Kid.

"What?" squawked Heyes. He tried to sit up straight, but wound up slumping sideways onto Kid's shoulder. "We were camped out in the middle of the desert with half a canteen of water. We didn't even have potatoes."

"We had each other," reminded Kid. "And it was the first Christmas together after leaving Valparaiso."

"Oh," nodded Heyes. His lips spread wide in a dimpled grin. "Yeah."

"What about you?"

"What about me?" asked Heyes.

"What's your best Christmas?" asked Kid.

"This one," answered Heyes. His eyes twinkled and if it was possible, his dimpled grin deepened. "We're together, we got potatoes, and we're alive."

"I'll drink to that," grinned Kid.

He took another swig from the third or was it fourth bottle of whisky?

"You know Kid," confided Heyes, "The banks and railroads raised the reward after the Hanford job."

"I figured that," replied Kid with a rueful smile.

"And they added _Dead or Alive_ to the wanted posters," informed Heyes.

Heyes felt his partner tense beside him.

"They did what?" demanded Kid. "We ain't never shot anyone, and certainly never killed anyone!"

"It's just part of doing business with the banks and railroads," muttered Heyes in a gloomy tone.

"Heyes," replied Kid, "We gotta get outta this business."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Christmas Eve 1903

"And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless Us, Every One!" concluded Heyes.

A clamor of voices rang out from around the room.

"Merry Christmas!"

"Feliz Navidad!"

"Peace be with you!"

"Joy to the world!"

"God bless Us, Every One," echoed Kid.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

A/N2: A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens published 19Dec1843

Also, the Ripy brother's distillery of 1869 would become the makers of a brand of Kentucky straight bourbon whisky called Wild Turkey.


End file.
